Yah mon, Jamaica day three

Just came back from the Pelican Bar, a bar built on stilts about 1000 yards from shore. We drank Red Stripe and ate fish; yes, Floyd cooks at his bar and keeps the beer cold with a block of ice. We ventured up the Black River to observe crocodiles (we saw two), then swam at a swimming hole up river near a village. Yesterday was jerk day... yes, I was nothing short of a complete ass hole the whole day. Try it some time. Actually, I had a tutorial on marinading then cooking jerk chicken, with a local chef named Chris (who insists everyone call him "Strikie T"--though everyone seems to call him Chris). Strikie's jerk shop is just down the road from where we are, a small hamlet of Jamaican's who wave at you at say "how you doin', mon" and "respect, mon." Despite travels through Asia, I don't think we've ever had so much trouble understanding people. It's not like Jamaican's try to speak English for you, they are speaking English, you just have no idea what some of them are saying, and there seems to be grades of patois. Strikie T speaks English very well when he speaks to us, but when a neighbour walks by, they converse in some alien prose known only them, punctuated by "yah, mon... yah, mon... yah, mon."

So tonight it's off to Jack Sprat's again to hook up with some Irish folks we met at the Pelican Bar. It's about a thirty minute walk through the village, but we've heard people frequently offer you a ride. This area of Jamaica is very safe and walking on the roads, even after dark, is commonplace. Tomorrow it's off to the Appleton Rum distillery, then Friday we head over to Button Bay, which is about twenty minutes up the road or a vomit inducing half hour by boat.

All is good with us, though I tumbled into the water at the Pelican Bar while holding the camera. We're hoping ol' faithful will be alright, but our photographs may end here, with one final shot staring up at the sky as I thought to hold my hand up to keep the camera dry: hard to do when you fall face first.